


Brain Damage

by wrenseroticlibrary_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Case Fic, Consent Issues, Dissociation, Episode: s05e11 Sam Interrupted, Gaslighting, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Owner/Pet, Parasites, Pink Floyd References, Psychological Horror, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Responsibility, Self-Harm, Slurs, Song Lyrics, Song: Brain Damage (Pink Floyd), Songfic, Spanking, Title Added by Archivist (Wren's Erotic Library), Unreliable Narrator, Victim Blaming, anal rape, non-consensual anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenseroticlibrary_archivist/pseuds/wrenseroticlibrary_archivist
Summary: Dean knows he’s only in a mental institution to hunt a monster, but it’s really hard to fight demons (alwaysfightingdemonscan'tstopfightingdemons) when the walls WON’T BLOODY WELL HOLD STILL. It’s hard to fight much of anything, he can’t even...(No. Stop. Don’t remember that.Except Sam keeps trying to get him to remember.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	1. And If Your Head Explodes

**Author's Note:**

> Archivist's note: The two chapters of this fic were originally posted separately with links to each other. I combined them and gave the fic its collective name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wren's tags: supernatural, dean winchester, crazy!Dean, sam interrupted, gay, anal, brain damage, pink floyd, noncon, writing.
> 
> Wren's warnings: non-consensual sex and crazy!Dean. This is not a cheerful story.
> 
> Archivist's warnings: Dean is having a mental health crisis, and his narration viscerally reflects that. Also there's a couple of slurs (bitch, slut, whore).

The walls whirled overhead like stars.

Dean clung to the ground hard, in case it started getting any bright ideas about flight too. Something was wrong, he wasn’t crazy (notcrazynotcrazynotcrazy), I mean, sure, fighting monsters for a living, that’s pretty fucked up I don’t even get paid not really a living just fighting monsters because WHY THE HELL NOT I GUESS.

Dean ran his hand over his face and groaned. No, he was in a mental institution because he. Checked. Himself. In. For a _job_. Have to remember that, have to, have to, _I fight monsters for a living and I’m doing it right now I’m not crazy._

Tell that to the walls.

Someone walked past him, not giving him a glance. _Why are there people in my room?_ Right, he wasn’t in his room he was in... a hall... (The lunatic is in the hall.) He was in the hall because he was looking for monsters. No! Not just any monsters. The monster, monster in, in this mental facil-il-il-il-ilty.... Facility. Got to get his words right. Got to keep the loonies on the path. No, wait, that was the song. Stupid. Focus. Wraith. That’s it. Hunting a wraith. People were dying and he had to find the wraith and kill it before _all your fault Dean, you let them all die, where were you when they needed someone to save them YOU LET THEM DIE._

Dean bit his hand to stop himself from hyperventilating and tried to keep his mind in one place, but it was jumping all over like (a lunatic on the grass) and it was making it hard to focus. (Start from the beginning.) He came here with Sam. _Sam._ Dean clung to the word like a rock. He came here with _Sam_ because he hunts demons with _Sam_ and they checked themselves in here (him and _Sam_ ) so that they could find a monster, NOT because they were crazy. So why was he suddenly going all dark side of the moon? Wait, no, no, he figured this out, he already figured this out, it’s because, because, because the MONSTER was doing it. He wasn’t crazy, the monster made him crazy, it wasn’t his fault that the lights were spinning and everyone’s face was rotting off their skulls and _shut the fuck up, walls, when I want your opinion I will damn well ask for it!_

...Not crazy.

Someone had stopped and was standing in front of him. Dean blinked up, but the walls were blocking his view.

_“There you are, pretty boy. Come on, up you come.”_

Hand grabbing his arm. _Holyfuckdemonsgetthemoffme!_ Dean tried to wrench away but the hand just grabbed him again, tugging on his arm.

_“Come on, on your feet.”_

Feet feet feet that was good. Gotta stand up to fight demons. Only a crazy person would fight a demon but _evidently he was crazy_ (not crazy, shut up) so why the hell not? What was he doing all curled up in a corner anyway? Why was he sitting here on the (paper holds their folded faces to the) floor when he had a thingamajig to hunt? (Monster, that’s the word.) Dean let the strange hands pull him to his feet and OH GOD THAT WAS A MISTAKE THE WALLS HOLY FUCK GUYS CALM DOWN. Dean pressed a hand over his eyes to shut it all out but the hand kept tugging on him, dragging him step by step down the hall (lunatics in the hall).

_“Easy there, pretty boy. One foot in front of the other.”_

I know how to fucking walk on my own and daisy chains and laughs and _oh god I’m crazy, I can’t fight monsters if I’m crazy._ But maybe that was good, yeah, maybe he could use a break, it wasn’t his fault if he was literally incapable of hunting things, right? Not his fault that _they all died, Dean, you couldn’t save them_

Dean staggered and a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders to steady him, still guiding him blindly down the hall. _Where are we going? Hold on, I have monsters to fight, always monsters, always more of them, gotta fight them or they’ll kill people, lemme go..._ Dean mumbled and held his head and finally picked words out of the haze.

“Where... where are you taking me?”

_“Just a checkup, handsome. You just relax and let me take care of you.”_

“Don’ need... checkup... ’m fine...” Walls walls walls walls.

 _“Hush, sure you do. Right here, through this door.”_ Hole in the walls.

White room. White walls. _Everything in this stupid place is white. Except the blue robes, and the blood when the wraith slits people’s wrists..._

_“Sh, just lie down on the table, pretty boy.”_

Hands, hands pushing him forward through the spinning walls towards something square and flat and elevated _I believe they call it a table, dumbass._ Hands guiding him and reaching under his robe and under his shirt and wait, wait, why was that happening, that shouldn’t be...

_“Come on, right over here. We’re gonna make you nice and comfy.”_

Click of a lock. Someone locked the door (and threw away the key? God, I hope not), and that meant he was locked in this room now, and that wasn’t good, no, can’t fight monsters when I’m locked up in a room, _can’t stop people from dying when I’m locked up and CRAZY oh god why am I in here?_ Hands on him. Hands all over him. Dean whimpered and pushed them away, and the hands returned to his shoulders and guided him farther into the room, towards that square elevated thing that people called a _table_ only it had a mattress on it so it was really more of a _bed_ seriously did this man not know what furniture was?

The hands (just on his shoulders, thank god, didn’t like what they were doing before) let him over to the table—bed—ted—bedable—wait that sounded like something else—and sat him down on it. That was a relief at least, the walls were _so_ much worse when he tried to move through them, at least now he could sit still and watch them spin and maybe try to figure out what they were up to, find some pattern, there was something on his neck, what was on his neck.

_“Just you and me now, pretty boy. Been waiting to get you alone.”_

Wet, something warm and wet and _nibbling_ was on his neck. Dean gave an unhappy groan and pushed at it, but it wouldn’t move. There was something on his hips too, touching his bare skin, that meant it was under his robe, oh, the robe was undone, something was tickling along his hips and reaching into the elastic of his pants and—and—no, wait, this was wrong—

Something was pushing on his chest, and then the world was spinningspinningspinning and came to a rest upside down, no, not upside down, that was just the ceiling, he was looking up at the ceiling, kind of like a WALL only up above him, ha, but that’s where all of them went these days, like a bursting cloud (cloud bursts, thunder in your ears) voice in his ear, whispering whispering whispering only the whispers were wet and stung like teeth.

_“Been waiting to do this since you got here, pretty boy. Been watching you. Those big loose robes hide your body, but I can tell you look good under them. Nice and fit and tight, I’ll bet. I’ll find out soon. You’re all mine, pretty boy, we’re going to play together.”_

Don’t wanna play, got no time to play, and besides, don’t... don’t like this kind of play... Those hands were on his hips again and they were _doing_ something and more of his hips were bare to the air, pants, oh god, _pants_ , someone was pulling his pants down that was NOT okay good god not at all and then something hard and soft met his fist and Dean heard a grunt.

_“Ouch, you’re a firecracker. Let’s sort that out, hm? Don’t want you getting hurt.”_

Those hands were on his shoulders again and Dean was trembling hard, they laid him back down against the mattress-table-whatthehell and stroked down his arms, _stroked_ , like they were enjoying it, he didn’t like this at all, and then his arms were palm-up on the bed on either side of his head and there was something soft and sturdy wrapping around his wrists, one at a time, like, like something he knew, daisy chains and laughs, no, that’s wrong, but almost right, daisy chains, yeah, daisy chains, chains, chains... _chains. Bindings. Tightening around his wrists._

 _“There you go, that’s much better. Hush, pretty boy, there’s no point in struggling. I can always sedate you if you get... problematic. You don’t want that, do you?”_ Hand on his face, grabbing it, turning it up, he couldn’t breathe. _“You want some drugs pumping through your blood? Making you all limp and heavy while the world spins around you?”_

“No...” The voice didn’t feel like his.

 _“Didn’t think so. Don’t worry, you just behave yourself like a good little crazy and I’ll be nice and gentle.”_ There was a laugh (daisy chains and laughs) (chains and laughs) ( _chains and laughs_ ) and then the hands were on his hips again, pulling, tugging, taking his pants off. _“You might even find you like this, pretty boy. You look like you might be the type.”_

Like what? I don’t like this at all...

The room rocked like a ship at sea and Dean closed his eyes so he wouldn’t go tumbling overboard into a churning ocean full of something terrible like the faces of people he _let die_. Those HANDS that he was growing to hate were on his bare legs, running all over them like they wanted to eat him alive _I’ve been eaten alive once already and it was no fun at all, thank you very much_ and the hands were hot but the air was cold, cold air all over him, his shirt was being pulled up. Dean whined and tugged at the (daisy chains) on his wrists, but they wouldn’t break.

_“Yeah, that’s what I thought, nice fit body. You’re gorgeous, pretty boy. Lucky me, getting you all to myself.”_

Dean tugged harder at the bindings and a thin, scared sound escaped him. Felt like there was a crushing weight on his chest, he couldn’t breathe, like there was a car lying across him but that was stupid cars don’t come indoors at least not in clean white padded rooms with table-bed abominations with straps on them that hold your wrists down while people take your clothes off and touch you like a piece of meat _don’t want this, don’t like this, please, I just want that stupid checkup he said I would get and then I want to go, anywhere but here..._

Five fingers brushing over his chest like a spider, crawling all over him, found one of his nipples and twisted it until he gasped. “Stop... stop it...”

_“Sh. Just lie still.”_

Cloud bursts, hands on his legs, thunder in your ears, hands between his legs, you shout but no one, hands spreading his legs, seems to... hear...

“W-wait, don’t...”

And then there was something pushing _inside_ him, wet, slick, wiggling, _fingers_ , he bit his lip on a scream and yanked at the bindings and squirmed and _no no no no no no no_ but no one was listening.

_“You’re nice and tight, pretty boy. Never taken it in the ass before? I’m surprised. Plenty of guys would love the opportunity to break this in.”_

The walls were spinning and something was moving inside him and Dean choked down a sob. Fingers, fingers inside him, god, he wanted them out, wanted to stop what was happening but he couldn’t, couldn’t pull his wrists free (daisy chains holding them down) and everything was spinning and it hurt and he just wanted it to stop...

_“Sh, it’s all right, you can scream if you have to. The room is designed to muffle any noise you make. It’s just you and me in here.”_

Fingers tightened around his balls and _squeezed_ like they were some kind of toy and Dean cringed. “P-please, stop...”

_“It’ll get easier once you’ve been doing it for a while. I’ll make you like it, pretty boy. You’ll look forward to it. You might even beg me.”_

_Beg beg beg beg_ “Stop, please, just stop it, take them out, please...” His face was wet and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t stop shaking, he was so scared he couldn’t think straight, not that he could think straight before, he could barely remember what thinking straight felt like, it had been so long ago, was it days or years...?

The fingers pulled out and ran wet and hot up the inside of his thigh, and he cringed and sobbed and tried to pull away but there was nowhere to run to, he was strapped down and the walls were spinning and the hands were grabbing his legs and pushing them up to his chest and spreading them and oh god he knew what was happening, _he knew what was happening,_ it wasn’t just that he was crazy ( _shut up I’m not crazy_ ) this was real and bad and it was about to happen and oh god he couldn’t stop it.

“N-no, no, d-don’t do it, please...!”

_“Oh, you look perfect like this. Got a great ass, pretty boy. I’m gonna play with you all the time.”_

There was a sound like a zipper and he couldn’t breathe and the hands on his legs tightened until they hurt and he couldn’t breathe and his ass felt wet and weird and oh god there had been fingers in there and _he couldn’t breathe_ something bigger was pressing between his legs, smooth and slick and pushing against him like it wanted to push _into_ him and he choked out a _please don’t!_ but it didn’t stop, kept pressing harder and harder and he sobbed and squirmed and “Stop, stop it! Don’t!”

_“Look at you, you’re so pretty when you’re scared. You know it won’t hurt so much if you relax.”_

Dean felt sick, his stomach was churning and his heart was racing and his eyes stung and he trembled and sobbed and _something_ was pushing into him and it was stretching him and it _hurt oh god please take it out—_

_“Don’t worry, handsome, I’m gonna start off nice and slow. Can’t tear you up, see, the doctors would probably notice that. Gotta keep our little games a secret, hm?”_

Secret, secret, secret, _fuck that_. Dean tried to get enough air to speak as _something_ slid deeper into him (just stay away from my lungs, I need those) “I-I-I’ll tell them. Y-you shouldn’t be doing this, I’ll— _ah!_ —I’ll t-tell if you don’t stop—”

 _“And who’s going to believe you? You’re a drooling nutjob, pretty boy. You can’t even be trusted with a plastic fork. Who do you think is going to take you seriously?”_ A hand slapped against his ass HARD and Dean gasped. _“You’re all mine. I’m going to do whatever I like to you.”_

There was another hard _shove_ and it went deeper, and that hand _smacked_ against his ass again, hard enough to sting, _it already stings on the inside really you don’t need to do that it’s unnecessary_ and the man had called this a game, this wasn’t a game, Dean knew how games worked (remembering games and daisy chains and laughs) and this wasn’t how you played games, there was a word for this but he couldn’t remember what it was but he knew it was bad, he had to remember that, what was happening now was bad and it was the man’s fault, not his, he didn’t deserve it, not even if he let them all die because he couldn’t save them couldn’t save any of them the world was going to burn alive and he was just going to sit and watch so _stop bitching and take it you worthless whore._ (Another hard _shove_ and he cried out.) Thrusting in deeper, driving into him, felt like that _thing_ was pushing all the way up into his stomach, splitting him in two, oh god he could feel it in there, forcing through his insides like some sort of probing parasite _he wanted it out_.

 _“Oh, pretty boy... You’ve got no idea how good this feels. Such a snug little ass.”_ Started sliding back out of him inch by inch and _oh god he wanted it out but this felt terrible too, wet and wrong and warm and sticky and tingly and some part of his brain was almost enjoying it and it made him feel sick_ (if I throw up, will it fall and hit the ceiling?) _“Wish I could just pound you raw, but first I’ve gotta make sure you’re not bleeding._

Don’t wanna bleed, monsters make me bleed, was this man a monster? It seemed possible. (But he’s not the kind you fight, Dean, he’s the kind that cops look for that roam the streets every day and when you see one of _this_ kind of monster not even your EMF can pick them out of a crowd and you just walk right past them and _what kind of monsters do you hunt, anyway?_ )

It was out, out, out, and for one beautiful moment even the spinning walls echoed his relief. Then two probing fingers dipped into his hole and there was a _laugh_ and another hard _slap_ against his ass _that was really starting to hurt and why was it still terrifying every time?_

_“You’re clean, pretty boy. Looks like we can keep going.”_

“No...” No, don’t want to keep going, just let me go...

_“Come on, keep your legs spread, show me that nice ass. Yeah, that looks good. Wish I could see my come dripping out of that ass, you’d look perfect like that. Can’t, though, that would probably get noticed. I’ll make you swallow it someday. Special treat just for you.”_

Pressing against his hole again, going to push back in, no, he didn’t want it back in, _no!_ “No, no, no, no, no, stop it, please, stop it...” He wanted it out more than anything but it just _slipped into him so easily like his body wanted it_ and that was wrong, he didn’t want this, he didn’t ask for this, he said no but _doesn’t fucking matter you deserve this, you know you do, never should have been wrenched out of Hell after you cut up the first innocent soul (blood and screaming everywhere, you loved that) and broke the first seal and started the death and the fire and the end of days, consider this the world trying to right things, a little piece of Hell brought up just for you._

_“Not resisting any more, pretty boy? That’s good, it’ll feel better. You’re starting to like this, aren’t you? You’re making such nice noises, pretty boy, whimpery little moans.”_

Slid out and _shoved_ back in immediately, and his hands clenched until his fingers dug into his palms and he cried out _but there was no one to hear that’s what happens in Hell you shout and no one seems to hear._ And now it was _pumping_ in and out of him slowly, wet and slick and hot and thick and _using_ him like a toy and he just cried into the mattress because _how was he supposed to stop it and did he even deserve to?_

Someone else was breathing hard above him, that just wasn’t fair, teasing him with oxygen when he couldn’t breathe at all, his throat was tight and his chest was shaking ‘cause his heart kept throwing itself against his ribcage like it was trying to break free and _who could blame it, he’d get out of his body too if he could,_ he’d rather be spinning up there with the walls or roaming the halls like a lunatic (in the hall) or a (lunatic on the grass) or really a lunatic anywhere but here _okay I’m crazy I’m sorry I should have admitted it earlier, please what else do you want just let me go..._

He was being pounded faster, thrusting in and out like a—like a thing that does that—and it was making him gasp for air and stare up at the walls like he could hold them still with his mind if he tried (what mind?) while he was spread and grabbed and _the word is FUCKED genius you’re being FUCKED and you’re just lying there and taking it and letting some man stuff your ass with his cock and FUCK you as hard as he likes, I’ll bet he’s loving this, using you, using that body of yours, he’s going to do it all the time he said he would you can’t stop him I’m sure he’d love to fuck your brains out though of course you’ve got no brains to fuck out but god help him he’s trying._

_“God, pretty boy, such a nice ass... Gonna come in it soon...”_

Hands, hands fondling him again, squeezing his balls and cock and Dean whined and tried to squirm but _do you know how hard it is to struggle with something inside you, thick and pumping and paralyzing?_

_“Heh, you’re starting to get hard, pretty boy. Guess you like having your ass fucked.”_

A hand was rubbing him and it felt _hot and sparkly and blueberries_ and he whined and tried to make it stop because _this wasn’t supposed to feel good_ (if it feels good that might mean he can’t say no next time, might forfeit the right) but those (daisy chains) were still holding his wrists in place like spider webs and that thing was still stuffing him full and he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but gasp and moan as the slick hand stroked him and _no don’t listen to me I don’t like this!_

_“God that’s hot... You’re too much, pretty boy, I can’t believe I get you all to myself...”_

_Pounding him so fast_ he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, made him feel hot and sore but that hand was still moving and he thought he might be screaming but he couldn’t be sure and he hoped to god it was in pain if he was because he couldn’t stand the alternative—

Someone else made a low noise and the thrusting got _really hard_ and then stopped, and he could feel _pulsing_ and then, and then, and then... and then everything was still for a while, well, not everything, not his body which was shaking like it was about to BREAK and not the bloody walls, those were never still, always wheeling overhead like a dam broken open (many years too soon), but the thrusting stopped at last and now he was just being _filled_ and not _pounded_ and it was still awful (still making your cock twitch, you slut) but better than before even though it felt like he was burning on the inside. (Little piece of Hell brought here just for you and shoved straight up your ass.)

_“You’re even better than I thought you’d be, pretty boy.”_

Spinning. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to be anywhere. Something slid out of him and he felt _e m p t y_ and it was a relief but it felt wrong too _like he wanted it back in_ and his cock was still hard and hot against his stomach but the hand stopped, he didn’t know if that was good or bad. (Of course it’s good that it stopped, dumbass, you never wanted it to begin with, _but you want it now don’t you fucking whore._ )

Don’t want to be here. Please. (I’ll see you) anywhere else.

Shuffling and fabric and then he was a little warmer, guess that’ll be pants and shirt back where they should be, pants didn’t quite fit right because he was still HARD (stupid fucking whore) but... best he was going to get... (I’ll see you...)

There were fingers on his wrists and he whined but didn’t move (can’t move) and then the (daisy chains) were gone and he could move again (there goes your excuse) but he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to move, wasn’t sure he ever wanted to move again (I’ll see you...)

There was a chuckle and a hand rubbing his belly _like he’d been a good dog_. _“I’ll see you later, pretty boy.”_

(I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.)

The walls whirled overhead like stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archived from https://wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/post/46602685265/and-if-your-head-explodes.


	2. With Dark Forebodings Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wren's tags: supernatural, ptsd, sam winchester, dean winchester, sam interrupted, crazy!dean, crazy!sam, non-wincest, noncon.
> 
> Wren's warnings: First chapter contains non-con, and this chapter references that. Also contains PTSD. This is not a wincest story.
> 
> Archivist's warnings: None.

The walls hurt. Dean curled up tighter and whimpered, pressing himself as far as he could into the corner, _but of course that’s no good, the corner’s made of walls too, they’re everywhere, flashing like knifes and clanging like frying pans and closing your eyes won’t stop it you’re just making it easier for them stop it you gotta look at something just LOOK AT SOMETHING—_

Dean’s eyes snapped open and he gasped (hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath) but that’s no fair gotta hold his breath cause if he didn’t hold it tight it might _fly away_ with the _fucking walls_.

This was worse than usual, some part of him knew that, some little teensy tiny, quiet-as-a-mouse, totally-ignorable part of his mind knew that, and kept the little thought to itself, but it leaked out anyway and began to trickle into the part of his brain that was soft and fuzzy and it made him wonder if his condition was worsening. Maybe... maybe the walls didn’t normally hurt this much, didn’t normally slice at him like this. He couldn’t remember. _But that’s good yes not remembering good let’s keep on not remembering._ Something bad happened, but it wasn’t real as long as he didn’t remember it, right? Because reality is a composite of what you perceive and what you believe and he was going to unperceive the fuck out of that thing that totally didn’t happen and it would just go POP out of existence like a little soap bubble, right? The world spun sickeningly and Dean bit down another whimper, curling up tighter, forcing his eyes to stay open so the spins didn’t just swallow him up...

_“...Dean?”_

Oh fuck, the walls knew his name. Dean cringed away and realized that someone was kneeling in front of him.

_“Hey, Dean, it’s okay. It’s me, Sam.”_

“...S... Sam?...”

The word pierced him, shot straight to the core of his mind and found a part of him that hadn’t been touched by _the dizzy aching spin of the walls,_ a part of him that straightened up at the touch and said “brother.” Dean blinked and tried the word out again, not wanting his lucidity to slip away. “...Sam.”

He could see his brother’s face clearly now. Sam was smiling weakly, reaching a hand out to squeeze his shoulder. “Yeah, Dean, it’s me.”

Dean froze when he felt those strong fingers clutching his arm. He started shivering feverishly, some unplaceable dread stabbing through his mind, _you’re curled up in a corner curled up in a corner spinning walls in a corner in a corner sitting someone says something when you’re sitting in a corner then hands hands hands grab your arm and—and—_

_“There you are, pretty boy. Come on, up you come.”_

Dean shoved himself back against the wall hard, pressing a hand over his mouth because his stomach was _lurching_ like it was ready to just empty itself over _every last one of those damn spinning walls._ The hand on his arm sprang away, and Dean let out a shuddering sob of relief. That didn’t happen last time, the hand had just stayed put last time which meant _this wasn’t last time_ and it wasn’t happening again, _no no fuck no you’re not supposed to remember we’ve been over this no remembering fuck it hurts—_

_“Oh my god, D-Dean—”_

_Keep your eyes open._ Dean blinked furiously, trying to keep Sam’s face in focus. Right, that was Sam, brother Sam, hunter Sam, _safe_ Sam—as long as he was with Sam everything was okay.

_“Can you hear me? Are... are you all right?”_

Dean swallowed and held his head, trying to steady it. Words were so hard, they hurt almost half as bad as the walls, maybe three fifths, no, that was more than half, fuck, Sam’s the one who was good with numbers... Dean cleared his throat, fingers digging into his scalp. “We’re... we’re hunting something,” he choked out.

Sam nodded eagerly. His face was back in focus, and Dean stared at it so it wouldn’t disappear into a wave of walls again. “Yeah, Dean, that’s right, we’re hunting a wraith. Only... only it’s already got to us, made us both a little loopy.” Sam looked him over, concern plain on his face. “But god, Dean, you look _way_ worse than me. I mean, crayons are a lot more entertaining than I remember, and people who don’t exist keep trying to throw punches at me, they keep saying it’s all my fault...” Sam’s voice trailed off and he gave a weak laugh. He sobered up quickly, starting to reach a hand towards Dean before stopping himself. “You just look... god, Dean, you look like you’re barely hanging on.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand urgently, squeezing it hard because _see he’s real you can’t take him away from me, my brother’s real._ “S-Sam, don’ go, ‘kay?” Maybe if Sam stayed here it wouldn’t happen again, wouldn’t happen like _he’d said it would happen again, said it would happen all the time said he was gonna do it again and again you can’t stop it oh god I don’t want it to happen again I don’t want to remember—_

“Dean, _what’s_ going to happen again?”

Dean swallowed. _How did Sam know?_ He didn’t want Sam to know...“I... no, no, I can’t, can’t remember.”

Sam licked his lips, returning the shaking clench of Dean’s hand with a squeeze of his own. “Dean, you gotta try. Was it the wraith? Did you see something?”

Dean shook his head urgently, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “No no no no, don’t wanna try.” _I don’t wanna remember I don’t wanna remember oh god_

_DAISY CHAINS._

_“Hey, hey, Dean, stay with me!”_

A hand was on his face, cupping it, _but not grabbing it so it was okay,_ and besides it was Sam, _Sam_ , brother and hunter and safe, Sam wasn’t going to hurt him not ever.

Dean nodded to let Sam know he was here and present and accounted for, reaching up to cover his brother’s hand with his own.

“Dean, what don’t you want to happen again?”

He started shaking again. “S-Sam, p-please, I can’t—”

“Hey, sh, it’s okay.” Sam stood up, still holding Dean’s hand. “Let’s... let’s go to your room, okay?” Sam licked his lips and glanced around anxiously. “Cause there’s... there’s like a million people standing around and I’m _pretty_ sure they’re not real, but if they are, we should, you know, not talk about monsters in front of them?”

 _Monsters._ Gotta hunt ‘em, that’s what he does with Sam. Dean nodded and let Sam pull him to his feet, _even though being pulled to his feet is what happened LAST TIME._

When he was standing Dean grabbed Sam and hugged his brother close, burying his face in Sam’s neck, breathing in the smell of Sam because _this isn’t like last time because Sam’s here._

“Whoa, Dean, it’s okay, I’m not leaving.”

Dean nodded and gave Sam one more squeeze before pulling back, panting slightly. “Okay, let’s... let’s get away from your invisible people.”

“No, no, they’re like the opposite of invisible, cause they’re not real but I can see them—”

They started walking through the halls, and it was the damnedest thing but holding Sam’s hand kept the walls _almost_ in place, upright, connecting floor to ceiling, almost at right angles to each other. Dean tried to just breathe deep so that the feeling of standing on a still, flat plane in a static box of other flat planes wouldn’t leave. Sam would occasionally give death glares and muttered curses to empty spaces, but that was just fine, Sam could do whatever he wanted as long as he stuck around Dean.

They got back to Dean’s room primarily through Sam’s navigational skills and some trial and error. Sam pulled the door shut and Dean sat down on the bed, _upright, sitting, not lying down, clothes on._ He felt the mattress dip as Sam sat next to him, then felt his brother’s hand settle over his again.

“...Can you tell me now, Dean?” Sam lowered his voice. “Cause there are still people here but I figure they’ve _gotta_ be fake because it’s your private room and all.”

Dean nodded, giving the room a quick glance. “It’s empty,” he whispered back to Sam.

“Good. Thought so.” Sam cleared his throat, blinking a few times in an effort to concentrate. “You... you were going to tell me something.”

“Forgetting is good, you should forget, that’s what I’ve been doing,” Dean stammered out quickly. Sam snapped his fingers and Dean cringed at the noise.

“No, you said you didn’t want something to happen again.”

Dean shuddered hard. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Dean—”

“ _It’s nothing_.”

“Dean, you’re shaking—”

“ _Sam fuck off it’s nothing._ ”

Sam flinched. Dean pulled his legs up to his chest and shook, grabbing the fabric and twisting it anxiously, _see pants good pants gonna keep wearing pants don’t take them off please no stop—_

_“Dean, uh—it’s okay, you don’t have to take your pants off...”_

A phantom hand trailed up his thigh, or maybe it was a real one, maybe he was back on the _table bed god no_ and he was strapped down with (daisy chains) and he was just imagining that he was free because he didn’t want to think about what was happening—

_“D-Dean, it’s okay, I’m here, oh god, Dean, don’t cry, it’s okay—”_

Arms were wrapping around him, but they weren’t groping and they weren’t pinning and it was just a _hug_ , like the ones he always shared with _Sam_.

_“Dean, come on, please, tell me what happened to you, let me help...”_

Dean grabbed at Sam’s shirt until he figured out how to return the hug, pulling himself against Sam, anchoring himself. “S-Sam, please, don’t... don’t make me talk about it...” _He said it had to be our little secret._

Sam stiffened against him, and Dean had the most peculiar sensation, like he could almost hear the voices shouting in _Sam’s_ head.

“Dean,” Sam growled, “did someone hurt you?”

Dean shuddered, pulling away from the hug. “I-I didn’t say that—”

“No, _she_ did,” Sam spat back, pointing at the empty air. “And I’m pretty sure she’s not real but that doesn’t mean she’s wrong! Did someone hurt you, Dean? I’ll _kill_ them.”

Dean shook his head, then held it, then stared at the mattress, he could feel hands on his body— _No no no Sam’s here Sam means you’re safe, Sam can keep you safe._

“Dean, _tell me_!”

When Dean flinched at the violence in Sam’s voice, Sam clenched his hands and looked away and took a slow, deep breath.

“I... I’m sorry, it’s... it’s all these people shouting at me, Dean, it’s not you... Please, just tell me if someone hurt you so I can keep you safe.”

“You can’t,” Dean whispered, “we don’t hunt this kind of monster.” _What kinds of monsters do you hunt, anyway?_

“You mean the wraith? Of course we can hunt it.”

“No, no, he... was just a human, I think.” Dean chewed his lip. (Are you sure about that?)

“Wait, some guy hurt you?”

It took all of Dean’s effort to nod, and when he did a spike of pain shot through him, dizzy and sick and sour, _stop it you’re about to admit it happened and then it really will have happened stop—_

Sam’s fists were clenching in the blankets. “Dean. Who was it.”

“D-dunno. He works here, I think. He said...” Dean was breathing hard. His heart was pounding in his ears and his voice sounded weak and strange and like it came from someone else, and he was spinning...“...He said... I just needed a checkup...”

He couldn’t see anything. Walls.

W a l l s.

Pressing-up-against-his-face-until he-choked-on-them _walls_.

_“Dean!”_

Hands grabbing his shoulders, squeezing them, trying to snap him back to reality, but it wasn’t working it was too late the walls were spinning and hands were reaching out of the storm and grabbing him and the hands said “pretty boy.”

Dean whimpered and pushed at the hands, stomach twisting in panic when they wouldn’t move. “S-stop, please—”

The hands yanked away. Dean doubled over and tried to catch his breath, almost sobbing, clutching at his stomach so it wouldn’t burst out of his body.

_“Dean... g-god, did someone...”_

Dean shook his head and whined and buried his face in his knees, trying to shut out the world, but the world seeped in through his squeezed-shut eyes—

_“I’m gonna play with you all the time.”_

A hand grabbed his face and pulled it up out of his knees, and Dean would have been terrified if he hadn’t been staring straight into Sam’s face, unable to look anywhere else, _and it’s okay because it’s Sam and Sam won’t let anyone hurt you._

Sam looked furious and terrified and like he might be sick, but he held Dean’s gaze, and took a few deep breaths, and finally forced out words.

“Dean... did... did someone rape you?”

(Daisy chains.)

The walls whirled and bit and tore and Dean felt like he was full of ice and poison instead of meat and he was shaking and struggling for air but Sam’s eyes were fixing him in place, holding him still, holding him steady, and with all of his strength Dean made himself _nod_.

He could feel Sam’s hand shaking against his face and Dean quickly grabbed it with his own hand because _no_ Sam needed to be steady Sam was the only thing holding _him_ steady—

“Who. Did. It.”

Dean shook his head. “Sam, please, I don’t know, couldn’t see him, there were walls everywhere—” Dean shuddered and bit his lip, squeezing Sam’s hand so he’d know it was real. “Just—we need to get out of here, Sam, we need to—need to hunt the monster so we can get out of here.”

_What kind of monsters do you hunt, anyway?_

Through the spinning walls he could see Sam give a reluctant nod. Then he was pulled into another rough hug, like Sam was afraid he was about to drift away, _which was entirely possible_.

“Can we just kill the wraith so we can leave?” Dean’s voice was barely audible even to him, but he had to say it, they had to leave _soon,_ before _he got played with again—_

“Yeah, Dean, of course.” Sam gave him a squeeze. “I’m not gonna let it happen again, Dean, not gonna let you out of my sight.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes, and for once the insides of his lids held no more than gentle darkness, and he tried to hang on to Sam and just believe him for a while and maybe even feel safe.

* * *

Dean sipped at his coffee, staring out the motel window at the sunrise. Cool air was wafting in, tugging at the thin, gauzy curtains.

Sam was leaning back in one of the scratchy motel armchairs, a newspaper in his hand. It rustled as he turned a page, and he murmured a “huh.”

Dean turned. “Job?”

“No.” Sam turned another page. “Not our kind of thing.”

“Regular old death?”

Sam held his gaze. “Just a pair of employees at a mental institution. A woman was stabbed to death and a man was stabbed _and_ beaten to death.”

Dean stared into his coffee. “Huh.”

“Same night two patients went missing, no less.”

“Weird.” Dean took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t suppose they’ve got any leads?”

A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Sam’s mouth. “Nope.”

“Good.” Dean took another sip of his coffee, staring back out the window. _Two less monsters in the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archived from https://wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/post/50252980398/with-dark-forebodings-too.

**Author's Note:**

> Details of formatting (italics on non-letter characters, length of dashes, treatment of multiple consecutive spaces, direction of angled quotes, etc) may have been changed, and obvious typos may have been corrected. The sequence of words has not been altered.
> 
> This is not my original work; it is Wren's. However, Wren has given permission for anyone to rearchive their works as long as the story and warnings are not modified.


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